


Anti-mimesis

by MarkoftheAsphodel



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War, Fire Emblem: Thracia 776
Genre: 1960s AU, Closeted Character, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Gen, Puppy Love, Unrequited Crush, tv show au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarkoftheAsphodel/pseuds/MarkoftheAsphodel
Summary: He dreamed that he’d follow his mentor onto the great stages of the world. She thought she’d be the toast of Broadway. A silly, sunny television comedy isn’t what either of them envisioned, but it might just be the best thing in the world for six remarkable children.





	1. The Pilot (A Big Bubbly Life Together)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been making Brady Bunch/Partridge Family jokes about Finn/Lachesis and their station wagon's worth of children for literal years now, so this was inevitable. Think of this as taking place in an alternate 1960s where a lot of cultural touchpoints from Camelot to Gilligan's Island to Bewitched pretty much happened as they did... but some other things did not. In the spirit of the era, expect a lot of familiar Jugdral characters to be under Anglicized names or some other variant of a stage name. Also, whether its names, details, scripts, or articles, the more you know of the TV shows of the era the more you'll recognize. In a sense VERY little of this is "made up" except for, you know, Fire Emblem characters.

_1966, somewhere near Los Angeles_

The sun’s going down into the Pacific again, and Finn sets aside the script he’s been reading without much interest to watch it disappear through the floor-to-ceiling window of his apartment. The Scotch in the tumbler alongside the discarded script for _Yours and Mine_ is melting into the ice and as the sun slips away, Finn drains the diluted mixture without really tasting it. That’s not what his mind is on tonight. A fragment of sunlight, reflected and refracted too many times to count, lands on the framed poster of Quinn Cassidy’s _Hamlet_ , painting the black velvet shape of the prince a fiery orange for a moment.

Diluted or not, the whisky helps dull the anticipation until the receptionist buzzes in with a familiar crackle.

“Mr. Sargent?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a guest here to see you,” she says, with the same professional distance she always keeps no matter which guests turn up asking for him.

“State the name.” He flicks his tongue across a lower lip gone suddenly dry.

“Lewyn Sherwood.”

It’s the wrong name. Finn’s hand tenses around the empty glass.

“Tell him,” he said, every actor’s instinct honed over the past two decades in play to keep his voice light and casual, “that _this is not the time_.”

The line goes silent, and Finn is left staring not at the red afterglow in the sky but at the locked door of his guest bedroom, wondering why on earth Lewyn imagined barging into his apartment at this hour would sell Finn on the script.

Not the time. Finn pours himself another Scotch— neat, this time. And he waits.

-x-

 _Somewhere else near Los Angeles._

“Come on, Aunt Lala.”

“Bed!”

Lachesis stares down her nephew and his half-sized guitar. Ares survived the onslaught of Beatlemania only to succumb to the Rolling Stones once they reached the Ed Sullivan Show, and now the guitar she gave him in hopes of accompanying her on proper tunes is in his hand at all times— including when he ought to be brushing his teeth. And he is _not_ playing the right kind of music.

“You are keeping Nanna up with that racket,” she says, whether it’s the truth or not. 

“All right,” Ares huffs, and he puts the guitar on its stand for the night. “Night, Aunt Lala.”

He kisses her on the cheek the way he’s done every night for the last eight years. She doesn’t tuck him in any longer, but Lachesis doesn’t turn away until she hears the click of his door. Ares is locking it now.

“I don’t know what do with him these days,” she says to herself as she descends the great curving staircase lined with treasures the Eden family acquired in their glory years, relics that don’t have value yet in the eyes of her twelve-year-old nephew or her little daughter.

She pauses midway down the stair, looking over the sweep of artifacts that define the gilded legacy of the Edens, and Lachesis wonders— not for the first time— if this is going to turn into a _Sunset Boulevard_ sort of existence for her once the children lose interest. It can’t, though— not if she can’t afford the upkeep on this old palace.

Lachesis settles into the couch of her favorite Rose Parlor, a copy of the _Los Angeles Times_ trailing through her fingers. She then sees the ad for the casting call. Paramount, again, looking for children between the ages of six and fourteen. It's a situational comedy, which doesn’t sound promising, but really Ares needs something to channel his excess energies. Even should he not get the part, the auditions ought to keep him busied for awhile.

She’ll even bring Nanna along, so Ares doesn’t suspect it’s his best interest she has in mind.

-x-

_Screen test: Altena Cassidy, aged eleven._

LEWYN SHERWOOD (offscreen): So you’ve been on TV before.

ALTENA: I used to be a star, yeah.

(She smiles, maintaining eye contact with the interviewer behind the camera all the while. The table in front of her is strewn with toys that she’s ignoring as she makes her pitch to the camera— poised, confident, every word clear. She does not over-emote.)

LEWYN: Did you enjoy it?

ALTENA: Sure! I was in a parade and got to ride an elephant. But then Mommy and Daddy died and they made me stop.

LEWYN: Who made you stop?

ALTENA: Grandpapa and Grandmama. They were afraid something terrible would happen to me.

LEWYN: So what changed their minds? Why’d they let you come here today?

ALTENA: I guess they realized they couldn’t stop me forever.

(Altena smiles. It’s a dazzling mega-watt smile.)

-x-

Lachesis uses her connections to get both Ares and Nanna in for an interview with Lewyn directly instead of subjecting them to the crush of a general casting call. She smokes half a pack of cigarettes and drinks terrible coffee while she waits for Lewyn to emerge from his office. He flashes a smile and gives her a thumbs-up. 

“Your little girl stole my heart,” he says. “Kid’s golden.”

“What about Ares?” 

She doesn’t feel like sorting out the vestiges of the real Lewyn from the artifice of the hotshot producer who inflicted that inane desert island show upon the world.

“Fine, fine. Maybe a little intense, for his age.” The look he gives her can best be called quizzical. “I think we can work with that, though.”

“He’s just like his father at that age,” she says. It’s what she always says.

And then Lewyn pitches the concept to her. Normally Lachesis wouldn’t give a television comedy half a thought, but after the abrupt close to her last musical, she’s all ears for this pitch.

“So, the idea is two parents with three kids apiece. Dad’s a widower with two girls and a little boy. Mom’s a divorcée—”

“A divorcée?” She lights another cigarette. “Has that been done on television before?”

“As a matter of fact, it hasn’t. I had a hell of a fight to even keep it in the script,” says Lewyn, and his attractive face hardens for a moment. “Anyway, Mom has two boys and adorable little girl, so that’s where Ares and Nanna are likely to fit into it.”

“Have you settled on the female lead?”

“We’ve narrowed it down to two strong picks but we’re still open to screen tests,” says Lewyn, and now he’s deliberately bland. He’s fishing.

“I’m not interested in a role where I’m putting pot roast in the oven with a tranquilized smile across my face.” She takes a deep drag on that cigarette just to show him she’s not anyone’s dear little woman.

“Lala, that’s not what this show is about. We’ll be pushing boundaries with this one.”

Lachesis exhales. She can’t really believe him… but right now, she needs to believe in Lewyn, despite the ridiculous figure he cuts with his scarf and his sunglasses. And because she’s an actress born and bred and believing impossible things is part of her day’s work, she does.

-x-

Lewyn doesn’t get into his apartment. Finn agrees to a civilized and proper business meeting over lunch, and they’re barely past greetings before Lewyn badgers him over what screen tests Finn is scheduled for at Paramount.

“Originally it was supposed to be _Barefoot in the Park_ again for television but the studio’s gone cold on it. There’s one legal drama that sounds promising and the other role I’m trying for is… space-themed.” Finn says. “I don’t particularly like being typecast as part of a courtroom, so perhaps as an astronaut…”

Lewyn waves his words away.

“Don’t waste your time auditioning for some ersatz _I Dream of Jeannie_ just because you’re trying to escape playing variations on a theme of Bertram Cates forever. Both those pilots are dogs, dead on arrival. Did you look over the script I sent you?”

“I did. I’m afraid I don’t really see myself as a suburban father of six, falling into a wedding cake to the sound of canned laughter.” There is, after all, little point in bring subtle with Lewyn.

To Finn’s surprise, Lewyn almost seems hurt at the rejection. Almost.

“Okay. You’re not even my first choice,” Lewyn says as he snaps his sunglasses shut and tucks them into his shirt pocket. “You’re too pretty— Rob Martin is supposed to be an architect, not an underwear model.” 

“If I’m not interested in your property and you’re not interested in my face, why are we having this conversation?”

“You see, I thought Gene Hackman would’ve been perfect,” Lewyn continues like he hasn’t heard Finn. “He’s got a face like America— but the studio nixed it. They said nobody’s heard of him and they’ve definitely heard of you after _Inherit the Wind_ and _Barefoot_ and all that. But I don’t expect that to change your mind on its own, so maybe this will.”

He sets a single page bearing half a dozen typewritten names in front of Finn, between the shrimp cocktail and the martini glasses.

“Here’s the final six to play Rob Martin’s kids,” says Lewyn, as though Finn has suddenly lost the gift to read.

Finn can, of course, read perfectly well, but only two names of those six register with him in this moment.

“Altena and Leif Cassidy,” he says aloud.

“I personally interviewed four hundred and sixty-four kiddies for this, and Leif was the best of the best. That boy’s dynamite.” Lewyn’s smiling once more. It might be genuine.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Finn replies. He knows better than anyone in this mad business the impact of the Cassidy scions’ heart-melting dark eyes and wiles and perfect enunciation.

“And of course Altena’s thrilled at the idea of being on TV again. But here’s the catch, see. We’ve got three little blondies on this list in case we go with a blond actor for Rob. The only way Altena and Leif get the role is if Dad has dark hair.”

It’s blackmail, of course. Finn knows blackmail when he hears it. But sometimes, in that situation… one has no choice but to say yes.

-x-

_Yours and Mine: Pilot Script, by Lewyn Sherwood_

Rob – There you go. Well, here’s to a great big bubbly life together.  
Florence – Oh, I forgot.  
Rob – What?  
Florence – Champagne has a terrible effect on me. It makes me dizzy.  
Rob – Champagne has a terrible effect on me too.  
Florence – What?  
Rob – You’ll find out. 

-x-

Lachesis is very nearly late to her screen test. When she gets there, no one’s available to do her make-up and she appeals to the stylist working on some spaceman show and thus feels lucky to turn up in front of Lewyn with a human face beneath the heavy beehive of her hair instead of some alien grotesquerie. It’s not Lewyn who rises to his feet out of respect for the Marvelous Miss Eden as she enters the waiting room, though.

“Finn? I didn’t realize _you_ were playing against me today.” She almost makes a comment about the Old Vic not working out for him, but after her last turn on Broadway she doesn’t have much room to make that kind of a jibe. She then considers a crack about how his recent roles generally involve looking good in a suit rather than wearing a wedding cake, but discards that also. “I thought you were more of a fixture in courtroom dramas.” 

“Or in jailhouse dramas,” Finn replies as he settles back down in the chair opposite her. “I’m here as a favor for a friend.”

“Friend? Oh, right, you and Lewyn do go back some way…”

His reply comes in the form of a strangely tight smile. It’s not the best beginning, but over the course of the next hour they piece the fragments of their old acquaintance together like a jigsaw puzzle— successes and failures, friends living and dead, the joys of raising Ares and Nanna countered by the stress of trying to keep an eye on Leif and Altena at one remove.

It does occur to Lachesis that this entire “blended family” script of Lewyn’s dovetails neatly with certain… personal concerns. But she has a plan brewing in the back of her head, an improvement to the saccharine script of the pilot that she wants to enlist Finn in before the screen test begins.

“Let’s flip a part of the script, just for fun.”

The look he gives her says that “fun” isn’t part of his vocabulary, but when the test is rolling, Lachesis stands holding aloft a glass of fake champagne, speaking the lines written for “Rob” and not for his new bride “Florence.”

“Well, here’s to a great big bubbly life together,” she says with all the zest not present in the still liquid in her glass.

“Champagne has a terrible effect on me. It makes me dizzy,” says Finn, giving an unexpected vulnerability to the would-be patriarch of this six-child crew.

“Champagne has a terrible effect on me too,” she deadpans.

“What?” Finn allows a perfectly-timed pause to set up her punchline, demonstrating that he knows comedy even if he’s not known for it.

“You’ll find out.” She bats her lashes at him and adds the slightest shimmy of her hips.

“Cut!” Lewyn shouts, flapping his hands at them both, but Lachesis can tell he’s not upset. “All right, I should’ve known you two stage hands would try some improv on me.”

“I made it better,” Lachesis says, and the test rolls merrily along until Lewyn orders them to kiss. She doesn’t even really know how to describe Finn’s reaction to that hasty kiss— discomfort? Revulsion?— but she’s been kissed badly before and merely touches up her lipstick afterward, pretending not to notice the sudden chill stinging her lips.

If Lewyn notices anything, he doesn’t let anything slip. He grins, he claps his hands, looks like the impish Lewyn of his faux beatnik days a decade ago. 

“Well, then, Rob and Flo. There are some formalities to sort out before you can meet your children…”

And Lachesis wonders how much of the casting call involving a supposed twelve hundred people was mere set-dressing leading to this.

-x-

They, and the children, only meet one another properly on the day the contracts are signed down at the studio’s preferred bank. Lachesis shows up with Ares and little Nanna in hand, looking every inch the Marvelous Miss Eden as seen on Broadway. Her middle on-screen child, tow-headed Del Montgomery, is the adopted son of another of their old acquaintances, and Lachesis greets him as a long-lost nephew of sorts. Finn’s never met Del before but finds him fresh-faced, all-American, a boy who sleeps with a baseball glove and keeps a dog named Spot.

As for “his” own children… Finn of course knows Altena and Leif. Neither of those two realized they would be working with him again until this moment, and now Altena is latched around his waist while Leif is at his feet like a puppy. The other girl, the newcomer, stands back a little, but little Jeanne Garrett has a bright smile and a bold pose with arms akimbo and her actual father stands a comfortable distance back with a broad smile lighting his own face.

The chemistry between the children seems immediate and genuine— Altena and Jeanne are soon discussing cats, Del and Ares talk about music, and Leif and Nanna gush about all the candy and ice cream they have to look forward after the signing. If this was truly the end result of hundreds upon hundreds of interviews, then Lewyn could hardly have done better.

“They are all perfect little troopers,” says Lachesis as flashbulbs go off around the children. 

“Some are born to this business,” says Finn. He wasn’t, of course.

Lachesis “Lala” Eden of the great dynasty of singing, dancing, and acting Edens smiles into the flashbulb storm. She is keeping both hands resolutely upon her handbag rather than slipping her arm in his own… no matter what the cameras want her to do in that moment. He already feels lost in her radiance and assumes that’s the natural way to feel.

-x-

Rob – Now, let’s get going. A man can’t be late for a wedding. Especially his own. Where’s your mother’s picture, Mikey?  
Mikey – I put it away. In the drawer.  
Rob – Because of Florence?  
Mikey – I thought she might not like it when she moves in.  
Rob – Come here, Mikey. Now you can put it right back, son.  
Mikey – Are you sure?  
Rob – I’m positive. I don’t want you to forget your mother. And neither does Florence.  
Mikey – Gee, that’s swell. I really like this picture, but I didn’t want to upset my new mom.  
Rob – You know something? Your mother would be very proud of you right now. 

“I’m wiping away tears,” says Lewyn once Finn and Leif have finished shooting the scene with the deceased Mrs. Martin’s photograph. “I felt that, I really did.”

“I’m sure,” says Finn, who gets short with Lewyn whenever Lewyn gets overly effusive. But Leif is beaming at the praise; the precocious seven-year old is a marvelous little actor despite the terrible dialogue Lewyn’s placed in his mouth, and Lachesis is beginning to sense that Leif knows it. 

What’s not marvelous is this pilot; the mawkish moments and the effervescent ones are a terrible mix that’s congealed like some Jell-o dessert overstuffed with canned fruit and worse. Lachesis did her best to patch the script up, but to watch Finn and Leif do their heart-rending best, drawing on the genuine tragedy of Leif’s mother to sell a terrible scene that’s going to be bookended with canine antics and a fallen wedding cake…

It’s a pilot, she says to herself. If the misadventures of the Martin family gets picked up past the first thirteen episodes— _if_ — there’ll be some changes made.

-x-

A hotel courtyard with potted palms and Murano glass chandeliers is not a child-friendly space, but the Cassidy children have been trained to slip unnoticed into adult spaces since birth and generally can be counted on not to cause a fuss. This is not one of those days.

“This is terrible!” 

“Altena, if you make faces like that in public some photographer is likely to immortalize it in any magazine willing to pay for it.”

Altena’s grimace disappears, but her dismay does not.

“Finn, they put _whipped cream_ in the eclair instead of custard!”

And Finn has no choice but to summon the waiter.

“I’m sorry, she’s not happy with the dessert. May we have something else in its place?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I like mine,” says Leif of his strawberry parfait.

“Good for you,” huffs Altena. “I _don’t like strawberries_.”

“Or whipped cream.”

“Not in an _eclair_!”

But their voices are low enough for this space, their gestures are contained, and Altena’s not pulling faces. They are being as good as any children of seven and almost-twelve might be, and Finn need only set down his own fork and be perfectly still and silent to catch their full attention. It works the way it always does.

“Altena, Leif… your grandparents wanted me to tell you the good news. ABC was so pleased by the pilot they’ve decided to pick up _Yours and Mine_ for a full season.”

“Outta sight!” Leif says, a fleck of strawberry cream on his lips.

Altena sits there for a moment, her head down and her hands in her lap, and as Finn studies the carmine velvet of her headband he wonders if she’s going to cry. When she does raise her face he sees only radiance there, even rapture.

“I’m so happy.”

“So am I,” he says. He doesn't expect this can last beyond a season despite the promise of Lachesis and the children, and now Finn wonders how badly Altena— and Leif— might be crushed by its failure.

-x-

_Yours and Mine, ABC, 8:00 on Friday nights_

_“I refer to the series as a ‘people’ comedy, rather than a situation comedy,” Sherwood says. “It’s because the show is so real. Old comedy shows relied on jokes and gimmicks, but family life today produces its own complexities and need only be captured by the writers.”_

_For the stars of his show, Sherwood picked top performers. “First there is Finn Sargent, who garnered attention for his portrayal as Bertram Cates in the critically acclaimed film adaptation of “Inherit the Wind” and then as the junior lawyer-partner on “The Defenders.” Though Finn has done Shakespeare in the West End and comedy on Broadway — notably “Barefoot in the Park” for a year — this is the first time television audiences have been exposed to his comedic talents._

_Lala Eden, renowned as a star of musical comedy on Broadway and film, makes her television debut in this series alongside nephew Ares and daughter Nanna._

Lachesis reads her two-decade career compacted into a single terse sentence and exhales a long stream of smoke. One disaster on Broadway, she thinks, and that’s all anyone cares to remember in the moment. This “television debut” perhaps marks a new start, and there might well be some scores to settle along the way.

**To Be Continued, Next Season**


	2. Season One, Part One: Clothes for Squares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lachesis gets a surprise on the studio set while some of the children prove quick studies in adapting to the roles of the Martin family children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've wondered, the last names of the actors in this are all based off actors and actresses of classic TV shows at the time (Bewitched, the Patty Duke Show, the Partridge Family, etc). There is a fair degree of intent with each "tribute" so feel free to ask. Meanwhile the names of the members of the Martin family are derived from the first names of each main actor from The Brady Bunch, the show that contributed the most DNA to this fictional sitcom.

_1967, Hollywood, Paramount Studios_

Lachesis passes through the studio lot, Ares held fast by one hand and Nanna by the other, without being openly recognized. She credits this to her hair, now clipped short like Jean Seberg’s in _Saint Joan_ and dyed russet for an off-Broadway role that came her way between filming the pilot and now. To assume the role of Florence Martin she’s swiftly fitted with a pageboy wig dyed to exactly match Nanna’s own hair color. Lachesis is examining the results when Ares bursts into dressing room she’s been allotted, holding a pale blue shirt by its sleeve as one holds a dead mouse by the tail.

“Aunt Lala, these clothes are for squares.”

“Ares, I will talk to Lewyn about your wardrobe,” she says as she examines her hairline in the mirror. “Right now, that’s what’s been provided for you, so you’ll put it on like a professional. If you think your father was pleased by every outfit he ever wore in his career, think again.”

Ares, sulking so plainly she can almost hear it, retreats to the boys’ dressing room. When the door bangs open again, Lachesis turns around to reprimand him, only to find Del Montgomery looking back at her, his hazel eyes wide with confusion.

“What is it, Del?” she asks in an entirely different tone than the one she’d have used on her nephew.

“Miss Lachesis? There’s a lady here who looks just like my mom and she’s trying on clothes.”

Lachesis gives a backward glance at Nanna, now sitting placidly in a spare make-up chair with a doll in her lap, then follows Del to catch a glimpse of a tall, angular woman with a torrent of wavy blond hair who’s modeling a smart “domestic” dress with an apron before a three-part mirror. She seems to be a few years older than Lachesis, with a handsome face rather than a pretty one.

“Thank you, Del,” she says, and spins on her heel to find Lewyn Sherwood. He has a striped scarf trailing over one shoulder despite the heat, his gold-tinted glasses perched atop his unruly hair, and a smile that disappears when Lachesis levels one finger at his breastbone.

“Lewyn, who is this mystery woman trying on clothes?”

What a rude, cowardly way to let one know that one has been replaced. Lachesis breathes out deeply through her nose, hoping Lewyn can see the flare of her anger. Lewyn holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“The network thought that your take on Flo Martin was a little more sultry than they originally had in mind, so they asked we introduce a housekeeper character to provide a more grounded and mature feminine presence in the Martin house. For balance, you see.”

“A housekeeper?” Lachesis lets one hand drift up to her artificial hair. “Well, that will free up Flo to pursue a career if she’s not scrubbing the floors and picking up six pairs of shoes. Excellent.”

She curves her lips into a smile and heads back to her own dressing room, heedless of Lewyn calling after her.

“Lala, wait…”

No matter. Even as the Martin family assumes its place for a round of publicity shots, she’s soon engulfed in a small-key family drama. Little Altena Cassidy, her long dark hair pulled into the smooth tails of “Maureen Martin,” is badgering her onscreen father about something else Lewyn’s done.

“Finn, they _said_ we could have a cat.”

“The cat turned out to be a poor actor,” Finn replies as he disengages Altena’s fingers from his jacket sleeve. “An unhappy cat makes for an unhappy show.”

“What about our dog?” pipes up Jeanne Garrett, whose headband with its jaunty bow— trademark of middle daughter Eve Martin— is colored red to match the ribbons in Altena’s tails.

“The dog also was not a very good actor,” says Finn through that tight smile he shows at odd moments, and Lachesis knows that he’s lying. Lewyn already warned her of what happened to the dog who made a mess of the wedding cake in the pilot. The camera hasn’t started rolling on the first true episode and already they’re lying to small children about what becomes of dogs who get off the leash at the wrong moment.

Lachesis glances down at her own daughter to see how Nanna’s taking the loss of both pets. 

“I liked Tiger,” says Nanna, her misty-eyed pout so precious it really ought to be on camera… except that they’re about to shoot a happy family photo.

Lachesis gets down on her knee and pretends to adjust the large frilled barrette clipped to one side of Nanna’s hair, her own little mark of style as “Susie Martin” to keep pace with the other girls.

“Lewyn said he’s going to try and find us a new dog. I know it’s disappointing, but right now we have to go to work. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nanna says after a deep breath, and she collects herself with the grace of any stage veteran. 

They’re almost in place now; as Finn towers over Lachesis and the children, “Rob” is seated in the center of their arrangement with son “Mikey” on his lap. As Lachesis nudges Ares— now dressed in the button-down shirt of “Barry Martin” to which he’d objected so loudly— into a better pose, she hears Lewyn giving someone direction.

“We’ll do a few with just these eight and then we’ll bring in Annie.”

And so the tall, spare woman in the housekeeper’s uniform is placed in their arrangement. Young Del is so disconcerted by the sight of an actress with a remarkable resemblance to his mother he loses the sunny smile of “Chris Martin” entirely for a moment; Lachesis reaches over to pat the poor boy’s head as he gets back into character. She can vaguely place the name Yvelle Byron now; the actress playing Annie the housekeeper has done quite a bit of comedy work, often involving juggling, throwing knives, and things falling down.

A housekeeper skilled at throwing knives. Lachesis wonders, not for the first time, what on earth Lewyn is actually thinking.

-x-

_The three-by-three grid of the opening credits to Yours and Mine fill the screen. Two changes are evident from the opening shown in the pilot; the flowing script of the title card jettisoned for a more colorful and modern font, and the presence of Yvelle Byron in the center square of the grid._

_Other moments stand out upon inspection; as the members of the Martin family smile at the camera and one another from their boxes in the grid, identical looks of annoyance cross the face of Lala Eden and her nephew. Finn Sargent also loses focus for a split second, seeming distant or possibly angry, then shakes it off. But no one is paying such close attention to the credits of a family comedy, and this sequence, accompanied by a peppy theme song, plays all season._

-x-

 _Yours and Mine_ almost proves a hit upon arrival. It hovers just beneath the Top 30 in its first two weeks despite a pair of scripts that Finn deems irretrievably flawed. The episode involving the Martin children seeking an advice columnist’s help falls apart midway through and the one about little Susie Martin’s school play doesn’t even have a believable premise, but the charms of the show aren’t embodied in any of the scripts… regardless of Lewyn’s claims of groundbreaking material. 

What stands out in _Yours and Mine_ — however slight those charms— is that the viewer is plunged immediately into the lives and emotions of the Martin children. It’s not a romantic comedy featuring six rotating child extras, it’s a story of children coming into their own with the parents as witnesses and guides. The show might not actually be good, but it’s different.

The children, at least, are very good. Jeanne Garrett’s performance as middle daughter Eve holds up against the gifts of Altena and Leif, and as Lachesis is already lavishing attention on Del Montgomery so he doesn’t feel lost in the gilded light around Ares and Nanna, Finn resolves to do the same with Jeanne. Midway through shooting the second episode, he invites Mr. Garrett to Brady’s Irish Pub instead of holing up there alone after work wraps for the day. As the unknown quantity among the _Yours and Mine_ stage parents, Neely Garrett— or Garabedian, rather— has the gaudy suit of a hustler and a slightly shady career as a saxophone player behind him, but now he speaks purely of the hopes and dreams of his only child.

“She’s been trying to get on television for years. I said, Princess, if you want this we’ll make it come true, and if you stop wanting it we’ll make it stop, pack up and start over if we have to. Whatever Jeannie wants.”

Finn soon forgives him for the tacky suit and buys him another round. Neely Garrett has moved down his list of potential problems— for which he’s thankful, as he didn’t need another.

-x-

She didn’t really expect to get much enjoyment out of being Florence Martin, aside from the obvious pleasure of shepherding Ares and Nanna through their first real roles. But it’s easy work compared to the physical punishment of anchoring a live show for six nights out of seven, and Lachesis doesn’t mind the outfits she’s given to wear (one little orange number is especially fetching and she considers “borrowing” it).

The scripts that Lewyn gives her, however, make her cringe on a weekly basis. 

Susie: How come you always gimme peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?  
Florence: Because they’re your faaaavorite.  
Susie: Oh yes, I keep forgetting.

“I will not have this inane dialogue come from my daughter’s mouth,” says Lachesis. 

She makes corrections on the script in bold, black ink and sends it to Lewyn by courier. He tries to placate her by offering her a the chance to sing in the Christmas episode, and she takes it. One or two songs for Christmas allows her to open that particular artistic door and wedge her foot in it, good and solid. 

-x-

Del Montgomery watches Miss Yvelle out of the corner of his eye. When she’s in her uniform with her hair pulled back, it’s not so weird, but when she’s leaving at the end of the day in street clothes with her hair down, she looks exactly like his mom. She even kind of sounds like his mom whenever she laughs— and she has to laugh a lot to play Annie. And Miss Lala and Mr. Finn think it’s weird, too… but nobody says anything.

Miss Lala is extra nice to him to make up for it, at least. At least he guesses that’s why she’s always extra nice.

-x-

Gray autumn mist turns to beads on the windows of the Cassidy family limousine as it makes its way through the achingly familiar turns of the cemetery’s gravel roads and deposits them before the jewel-box mausoleum that now houses what remains of Quinn and Ethel Lynn Cassidy. 

It’s the same strange experience every time, as Leif and Altena oscillate between somber and excited. They dress up in fine clothes and get to assemble offerings of flowers, and they know Finn is taking them for ice cream or some other treat thereafter. Altena has only faint memories of her parents clouding her heart and Leif none at all, and so Finn can’t fault them for tumbling out of the limousine as though they’ve arrived at the beach instead.

Usually they take turns recounting their most recent adventures to the shades of Quinn and Ethel Lynn, but this time Altena and Leif interrupt each other in a way that already evokes the staged cadences of the Martin children acting out a scene. They assure their parents they are excited and happy to be on television with Finn, then set their bouquets down. Leif’s bright carnations eked out with daisies goes beneath the inscription “Fear No More the Heat O’ the Sun” at Ethel Lynn’s grave, while Altena arranges a bunch of chrysanthemums by Quinn’s epitaph of “Good Night, Sweet Prince.”

The children then stand back and wait for Finn, as they always do. He doesn’t feel like saying much today.

“I promise you both I’ll be watching over them, every possible moment of every day.”

There’s nothing new in it; only the stakes have changed, are changing, ever more high. He then places one pale pink rose upon Ethel Lynn’s grave and single white rose on Quinn’s. As he always does.

“Ice cream?” Leif asks as Finn turns away. Leif has been trying out the fresh mouth of little Michael Martin away from the camera but this is a moment of dissonant almost-comedy far too black for _Yours and Mine_. It also seems genuine.

“Ice cream?” Finn echoes as he looks at Altena, and she gives a smart little nod, a gesture from Maureen Martin’s repertoire.

Back inside the limousine, though, Leif squirms onto Finn’s lap and buries his face in Finn’s jacket.

“Leif?”

“I kinda want to be held right now,” comes the muffled reply.

At seven, he likely won’t want to be on anyone’s lap much longer. Finn holds his pretend son as closely as he can, and then Altena nestles against his shoulder and none of them say a word until the chauffeur pulls up at the ice cream parlor.

x-

“How come you always gimme peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” says Susie Martin as her mother tucks her into a sickbed for the day.

“Because they’re your faaaavorite,” Flo Martin replies, leaning in so mother and daughter touch noses. It’s not established in the script that Flo Martin is immune to the measles afflicting her children, but she must be, as her behavior makes no sense otherwise.

“Well if I eat them every day they kind of stop being my favorite,” retorts Susie.

“Then you have learned a valuable lesson and are now wise beyond your years,” says Flo and she unclips the oversized barrette from her daughter’s hair.

“Cut!” 

Flo Martin stands up and turns back into Lala Eden.

“Well?” 

She doesn’t ask if the scene went well. Lachesis knows it went well. She’s waiting for Lewyn to tell her so.

“Beautiful,” says Lewyn, and he won’t give her any more.

Lachesis keeps a ledger in her mind of the songs she’s earned by fixing the script, and by her count she’s already up to six. This promised Christmas special alone isn’t going to cut it.

“This would be a really good time to gimme a dog,” says Nanna from under the covers.

“ _Give me_ , Nanna,” says Lachesis. She _will not_ have her children picking up bad habits from the slang used on the show. Lachesis folds her arms and stares up at the producer. “Well, Lewyn? You did promise them a dog.”

**To Be Continued in the second half of Season One**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miscellany:
> 
> Ares is a bit of a pill in this, initially. He's 13. Also, he's Ares.
> 
> I wanted to give poor middle-child Del the first kiddie-POV scene.
> 
> No, that's not Yves as Jeanne's father. That's her *other* father out of FE4 canon, who in this is of Armenian descent because Reasons. 
> 
> If the epitaph for Quinn (Quan) seemed appallingly on-the-nose my defense is that's what's inscribed on the actual grave of Robert Reed aka Mike Brady. If he did that, so can I. Ethlyn's epitaph comes from the play Cymbeline.


	3. Season One, Part Two: The S-Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Yours and Mine rises in the weekly ratings, Lachesis and Finn spar with Lewyn over creative differences and confront a key issue in their own relationship. Meanwhile, all is not entirely sunny between the child actors.

_1968, Eden Residence_

None of the children starring in _Yours and Mine_ have the chance to see a finished episode before it airs. Lachesis, who does have the opportunity to screen the final product each week, makes a Family Night out of watching the actual broadcast with Ares and Nanna. They settle into the TV room with a bowl of sugared popcorn and three flavors of soda and Lachesis gauges the success of each episode by the ratio of cheers to cries of “Aw, nuts!” that the children provide.

They love “A Wish for Christmas,” with its high ratio of strong scenes involving Flo and Susie and its two songs provided by Lachesis. The Nielsen ratings agree, and _Yours and Mine_ cracks the top 25 for that week. They are restless through the episode involving little Susie Martin losing her doll, which Lachesis attributes to how silly it made Nanna feel when filming and how little it has to offer a boy of Ares’s age. They both appear to loathe “Once in a Boy’s Life,” which revolves around Mikey Martin’s attempt to run away from home after he fixates on the idea that life has saddled him with a Wicked Stepmother straight out of a fairy tale. Nanna hides under a blanket as her character quarrels onscreen with Leif’s over the virtues of Flo Martin as a stepmother and Ares is not taken with what Lachesis thinks is some truly impressive acting on Leif’s part.

The Nielsens do not agree with the children this time and _Yours and Mine_ edges closer to the Top 20. Lachesis, feeling vindicated in certain ideas she’s held about the show, makes a point to praise “Once in a Boy’s Life” to Lewyn the following week.

“Yeah, I think that’s the last time we’re using the s-word on the show,” Lewyn responds with an audible lack of enthusiasm.

“Excuse me?” Lachesis hasn’t noticed anything veering close to obscenity on the broadcast.

“ _Step-parent_.” Lewyn says the word as though it were indeed obscene or profane. “We’ve brought it up twice and that’s enough. Part of the idea is to sell the Joneses on the idea that a blended family is _family_ and we don’t need to be holding up a sign with the s-word on it every time we want conflict.”

“Should you ignore something so painfully obvious?”

“Look, I’ve got you pestering me to make a little opera out of this with splashy drama and musical interludes and I’ve got Finn on my case every time something in the script isn’t factually correct. He sent me a memo about building codes in Santa Barbara last week because he said I was going to make his character look like a bad architect.” Lewyn raises his tinted sunglasses so he looks at her directly with bright green eyes. He probably thinks it makes him look frank and honest. “You know what Finn does for fun in the evenings? He sits around his apartment with a bottle of Scotch, reading the _Encyclopedia Brittanica_. Both of you should find a hobby and stop trying to make this show something it’s not.”

-x-

When it’s been a bad day of filming, Finn goes to Brady’s and orders three shots of Scotch, which he lines up on the bar in front of him and methodically destroys. On a good day, he and Neely Garabedian have a drink or two and Finn listens to Neely talk either of Jeanne or of his past adventures as a small-time musician. Tonight it’s about Jeanne and her unhappiness with one aspect of playing Eve Martin.

“My Jeannie, she’s always been a tomboy. I took her to _Camelot_ and she ran around the house in her blue jeans with a hobby horse pretending to be Lancelot for the next six months. The girls are wearing dresses in every scene, and I was hoping you could put a word in somebody’s ear about that…”

“Eve Martin _is_ supposed to be a tomboy,” Finn replies, for he can recall the original character sketches to the last detail. “I agree the dresses are at odds with her character. I will, as you said, put a word in…”

There’s something satisfying about being able to put these small details right.

-x-

Lachesis adores the script for the next episode. Called “The Horror-scope,” it almost could’ve been out of _Bewitched_ or one of the other marital comedies that consistently draw top ratings. There’s far less emphasis on silliness like missing dolls and wars over the family treehouse and more on the adult actors, which gives her more leeway to embellish the character of Flo.

Finn seems far less impressed by the script that week.

“I thought this was a show about the children and they’re hardly in it,” he says.

Perhaps for this reason, he’s especially obstinate about bucking stage directions he doesn’t find suitable. The script calls for Rob to kiss the hand of an imperious client, a _femme fatale_ named Camilla with a string of deceased husbands in her murky history whose building project is as ridiculous as her fashion sense. Yet as Camilla extends her hand to seal the contract via that requisite kiss, Rob instead takes her hand for a firm businessman’s shake.

“It’s more amusing if he doesn’t fall for this strange woman who pops up in his office demanding things,” Finn says after Lewyn yells “Cut!” on this improvisation.

“The point is that Rob falls for her,” says Lewyn.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what happens in this kind of situation and we’re making a situational comedy.” Lewyn says each word slowly enough that Leif and Nanna would have found it condescending. Lachesis, awaiting her next scene, represses a smile as the men argue it out.

“One of the basic principles of comedy is to violate the expectations of the audience,” Finn replies coolly.

“Is that some Neil Simon stuff you picked up when you bounced through Manhattan?” Lewyn’s eye-roll is visible through his tinted glasses. “There’s some things about this show where I want to keep the audience comfortable, inside the zone of their expectations, so that the other things I want to slip in go down easier.”

“What uncomfortable truth is concealed within this episode? That horoscopes are bunkum?” When Lewyn says nothing, Finn adds, “Hardly earth-shattering.”

“Fine, fine. Rob can shake her hand instead of kissing it.”

“Thank you.”

Perhaps Lewyn’s right that they’re both unusually pushy for television and should let the producer be the producer, but in that case Lewyn ought to truly bring them in to whatever grand subversive vision he has for this particular situation comedy instead of confounding them with scripts that don’t appear to gel with his intentions, Lachesis thinks.

Aside from these day-to-day sparring matches with Lewyn is something else that’s been a mounting source of concern to her, one that passes beyond her level of tolerance when she and Finn film a frothy little scene in their bedroom that involves Rob Martin rejecting his wife’s advances in favor of reading the newspaper. 

The Martins aren’t the first couple on television to blithely share a marital bed instead of the prim twinned beds of yesteryear, but they spend an unprecedented amount of time in that bed— reading, lounging around in pajamas, and often having their privacy invaded by the of those six adorable children. In some episodes Lachesis spends almost as much time in her nightgown as she does in street clothes. At first she reveled in this, for it proved that the show wasn’t simply showcasing thirty-something Flo Martin as merely maternal but as _desirable_ , as someone that those “Joneses” Lewyn spoke of would want to see in her nightdress, being kittenish with this handsome second husband she’d landed.

She’s not reveling in it now, because the scenes where a distracted Rob Martin ignores his wife in “The Horror-Scope” feel authentic in a way that prior scenes of kissing and snuggling had not. The difference has set her actor’s intuition aflame and, like any obstacle, she’s going to confront it head-on. The sensation of waiting with eyes closed for a kiss that isn’t coming isn’t one she cares to repeat.

“Finn, I know we each have our concerns about the overall direction of the show. Would you like to get together and discuss it at length?” she asks once Lewyn is out of earshot.

“Certainly. Are you available for dinner, then? I can book us a table at—”

“Somewhere more private,” she says.

“Dinner at your home?”

“Little saucers and pitchers,” she says, pointing to her eye and then tugging at her earlobe the way her character might.

“Ah,” he replied. “My place, then.”

He doesn’t sound entirely pleased, for reasons that become clear the instant Lachesis sets foot inside his apartment.

She’s had the misfortune to get mixed up with a few men who kept shrines to themselves in their own homes, and that always does end exactly as one might expect. This, though… the small temple to Quinn Cassidy that Finn calls a living room needs only an eternal flame to be a perfect spot for a pilgrimage. Framed posters and at least a dozen photographs celebrate the careers of Quinn and his wife; a stage-prop dueling foil gleams on the wall like a prized family heirloom. One of his gloves, preserved in glass, is on the table beside the coaster for the highball that Finn delivers to Lachesis on her request.

“When you said you were doing this show for a friend…”

The photograph nearest to her shows Quinn and his wife just before their fatal flight. Ethel Lynn has baby Leif in her arms, and between the Cassidys stands a younger Finn with Altena on his shoulders. That’s more the image she had of his relationship to Quinn and his wife. Almost family. Even by her standards, the collection of relics around her blows past those boundaries, and what Finn says as he settles into the chair opposite Lachesis only amplifies her suspicions.

“I’d thought my life’s trajectory would follow his, that I might start as the Horatio to his Hamlet and perhaps end as the Kent to his Lear.”

“Well, that’s a bit morbid,” she says, and sips the Scotch-and-Coke. 

“If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart / Absent thee from felicity a while,” he recites, looking out the window rather than at her. “And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain / To tell my story.”

“Your voice is wasted on television comedy,” she says for lack of any better response to that. It’s a surprising voice, dark enough in timbre to be almost at odds with his youthful face. And it is being wasted, the way his profile is wasted on the over-bright hues of a color television when the old posters around her testify how well he was treated by black-and-white.

“Television is where the children want to be,” he says. “What did you want to discuss regarding the direction of the show? I’m not going to agree that it ought to focus on Florence and Rob any more than it does.”

“I’ll cut to the chase,” she says, swirling the ice in her glass. “I can’t help but notice a tension between us during romantic scenes, and as romance is key to the characters we play as a married couple very much in love, I’d like to know if there’s something I’m doing wrong.”

“There’s nothing you’re doing wrong,” he says, with such a flat and final tone that she suspects he’s had this conversation before with leading ladies. Or rather, she’s sure of it.

“Is that so? How many martinis did it take for you to get through the wedding kiss? Or was that joke in the script about taking a tranquilizer to make it through the big day a shot a little close to home?”

“I… I doubt that,” he says, and looks down into the glass in his hand with what seems to her a sudden burst of shame. “Lewyn wouldn’t do that on purpose. He doesn’t know.”

And that’s all he needs to say. The essence of what Lewyn doesn’t or shouldn’t know of Finn’s personal life is so obvious to her now that Lachesis is wondering why it took until this night for them to have this conversation.

“Are you certain?” she asks, because thinking back on a couple of scripts she has to wonder. “Finn, my late brother was good friends with Quinn Cassidy going back to their schooldays. There were… stories… even then about Quinn being a switch hitter. There’s nothing you can either say or deny that’s going to shock me. I’m not very shockable, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Lewyn doesn’t know,” he says again. “Nobody does… no one alive, at any rate.”

“Well, I admit I’ve never heard any stories about _you_. But if twelve million people sitting around the television every week see us the way we’ve been, there _will_ be talk.” Since he’s looking into his highball glass again, she adds, “I feel like a weeks-old fish every time we have an intimate scene together, so something has to change. We’re actors.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at her now, and again the primary impression she gets from him is shame. “I’ll endeavor to… to work with you on that. But… I’ll ask you, whatever ‘stories’ you know of Quinn Cassidy, Altena and Leif must not hear them. I can’t have them ever forming the false impression that he felt anything less than pure adoration for their mother.”

“We all adored Ethlynn,” she says, blurring the syllables of Mrs. Cassidy’s name into one soft sound the way she did when they were young. “I’ll hold to that promise. In the here and now, let’s do what we can so all the nice viewers out in TV Land believe that Rob Martin adores his wife Flo. She’s a lovely lady, after all, and deserves nothing less.”

“Nothing less,” he echoes, and they drink to this promise before Finn provides Lachesis with dinner, and a remarkably good one at that.

He’d be a catch, she thinks, except for… everything, really.

-x-

“Lewyn wants to see you, Ares,” Altena says to her co-star.

She’s just a little huffy, because she’s looked all over the set to find Ares, who’s hiding with his guitar in the dog house that sits unused in a corner of the Martin family’s stage-prop lawn because Lewyn never delivered on the promised family dog.

“Sorry, Little Miss Protocol,” he says. That’s what he always calls her, thanks to a nickname that Finn used for her character once in the script of the pilot. She didn’t mind it at all from Finn but she sure minds it from Ares. Altena sticks her tongue out at him. 

Altena works hard every day to live up to her family name. She learns her lines, does all of her schoolwork and gets perfect grades on it, and practices the piano for hours. Ares complains about his clothes, sneaks off to play guitar every chance that he gets, and called Jeanne by her real name at least twice in one week when they were on camera.

“You don’t have to stand around glaring at me,” Ares says now. “I’ll head over there.”

“See that you do,” she says, sounding a lot like a producer herself, or at least that’s what she thinks. 

Ares doesn’t have to say “You’re not my real sister!” to her this time, the way he did the last time she tracked him down in the dog house and the way he shouted “You’re not my real dad!” at Finn between takes a couple of weeks ago. He acts like a very good big brother or big cousin or whatever to Nanna, and he’s pretty good with Del, but boy does he treat the rest of them like unwanted relations— or worse.

“They should’ve made the Wicked Stepfamily episode about you instead of Leif,” she says to him now. “Leif adores Miss Lala and you treat us like we’re the enemy. You’re worse to us every week than Mikey Martin was in that.”

“He was awful in that,” Ares blurts out. “I mean, I couldn’t stand watching it because he was being terrible to Aunt Lala and Nanna. You think I’m like that?”

“Yes, you’re awful,” Altena says, and before he can say anything back she spins away and marches out of the dog house. She got to see a bit of his face before she turned, though, and Altena thinks that maybe she’d gotten through to him, just a little, that if they’re going to be the Martin family to the whole world there are things that Ares needs to _cut out_ right now.

**To Be Continued**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, what Finn's quoting is from Hamlet's speech to Horatio at the end of the play, in other words something Quinn would say to him every night during their run together.


End file.
